


and we keep moving

by aliensroutthere



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya-centric, F/M, Growing Up, axgweek, axgweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 09:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20307409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensroutthere/pseuds/aliensroutthere
Summary: glimpses of Arya, through the years, of times when she considered running.(written for axgweek, prompt one: let's run away)





	and we keep moving

Arya was ten years old when the thought first occurred to her.

_I’ll run away_, she thinks, hidden behind a tapestry. She hears Septa Mordane’s footsteps from down the hallway, hears her shrill cries of A_rya Stark! You get back here this instant, young lady, your lady mother is on her way_, blah, blah, blah.

So what if she skipped her lessons today? Robb and Jon and Bran and even Theon had lessons about important things, like how to fight and how to shoot. Not stupid things, like the stitching she and Sansa learned.

With every shriek Septa Mordane made, Arya’s resolve grew. _I’ll run away. I’ll live in the woods and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn. I’ll take Nymeria and we’ll live in the woods and be fierce Northern woods-warriors._

Arya peeked out from behind the tapestry. After glancing up and down the hallway to make sure her Septa was gone, she took off towards the kitchens, her plan firmly set. The kitchen staff were so used to Arya coming by to say hello that they didn’t think twice when she asked for bread and cheese. Arya felt a little bit bad about tricking them, knowing they probably thought she was going to bring the food to her brothers. Mostly, though, she just felt relieved that they didn’t ask questions.

Her food secure - two loaves of bread and a hunk of cheese was surely enough food to last her for a while, right? - she began to sneak her way to her chambers. Once she had her cloak, she could make her break for freedom.

Arya made it to her rooms without incident, and breathed a sigh of relief at the door. She opened it slowly, to not creak the hinges, and froze.

She was certainly not expecting both her mother and her father to be waiting for her.

Her mother looked livid, Arya was ashamed to see, and her father disappointed._ Did they know I was going to run?_ Arya thought wildly, and immediately hoped they did not.

“Arya,” her mother started, but her father held up a hand. “Cat,” he said softly, and her mother shook her head. “No, Ned! Arya, why did you skip your lessons again today? Your Septa was worried sick about you, as were Sansa and Jeyne, and when they told me-”

“Sansa and Jeyne don’t care about me!” Arya interrupted hotly. “And neither does Septa Mordane. She said I have blacksmith hands.”

Her mother was still angry, but her eyes softened. “Arya, my love, they do care about you. They were worried about you.”

Arya adamantly shook her head. “No, they don’t. Sansa and Jeyne think I’m annoying and they don’t like my stitching. Septa Mordane doesn’t like me because I’m not as good as Sansa.”

Her father opened his arms for her at that. “Sweetling,” he said softly, and Arya did not hesitate in stepping into her father’s embrace, all plans of running forgotten. “You do not need to be Sansa. We love you just the way you are.”

Arya felt her mother’s hands come to rest on her shoulders, and she pulled herself back to look at her parents. “Then why do I have to go to lessons! I don’t want to be a proper lady, I want to be a knight, or a Lord, or High Septon, or-”

“Arya, my love, you must go to lessons because learning is important, no matter what it is,” her mother said gently.

“Stitches aren’t important. If you make me be a lady, I can get people to stitch for me,” Arya snarked, and her father could not hide his chuckle. “Little wolf, people will think you lazy if you hire others to do what you can do yourself.”

Arya huffed, and her mother knelt to look at her. “My girl, please come to lessons tomorrow. Just for us,” she said, and her father nodded his agreement. “We can talk more about it tomorrow if you’d like, but you must go to tomorrow’s lessons first.”

“Do you promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow?” Arya’s voice sounded small even to her own ears.

“Of course we will, my love,” her father said, pulling her close to him once more. Arya felt her mother join the hug, and basked in the love of her parents.

o~O~o

Arya was thirteen years old the second time the thought occurred to her. The Brotherhood’s hideout is warm and dry, but she was still their prisoner, despite how well they treat her, and Arya knows that wolves are not meant to be held captive.

“Let’s just go,” she tells Gendry as they sit by the fire. They are surrounded by members of the Brotherhood, but Arya is confident that they are too far into their cups to worry about what she and Gendry might be talking about.

“Go where?” Gendry turns to her.

“I don’t know. We could go to the Riverlands, and find my brother. We could go North. We could - where do you want to go? We could go anywhere.” Arya huffs. “I don’t want to be a captive anymore. Let’s run away.”

Gendry chuckled. “And I suppose you’re going to be bringing a warm bed with us? Why do you want to go back to sleeping on the dirt?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “We sleep on the floor in here, stupid.”

“Brat.”

“Shut up.”

Gendry half-heartedly shoved her. “There’s no reason to run away, you little terror. It’s warm in here. There’s food, water. They’re going to bring you to your king brother. You’ll be reunited with your family soon. Why do you want to go?”

Arya frowned. “Stupid. I’m a prisoner. Why in the hells do you think I want to go!”

Gendry gave an exaggerated sigh. “You won’t be a prisoner for much longer, milady.”

Arya’s frown deepened. _Why wouldn’t he understand!_ But Gendry continued, placing a hand on her arm that Arya assumed he meant to be comforting.

“Trust me, Arry,” he smiled, and despite herself, she felt just a bit better.

“Everything will be just fine.”

o~O~o

Arya is sixteen years old when the thought occurred to her the third time, though she supposed there was no point, considering where she was.

_I’ll run away_, she thought bitterly to herself. _Sounds familiar. Away from home, away to Braavos, and now away from the House_. Still, she knew running was her best option. Running meant she no longer had to kill innocents.

_No,_ she vowed. _I will only kill those who deserve to be killed_.

The night sky was inky and full of stars, and Arya wondered if these Narrow Sea stars were the same ones seen in Westeros.

_Is Jon looking at these stars? Is Sansa, Bran, Rickon? Is Gendry? Are they even alive?_

Arya didn’t let herself think about the possibility that all her remaining loved ones might be dead. She didn’t let herself think about how Jon might not want her anymore, how Sansa might be glad to have been rid of her all these years, how Bran and Rickon might not care for their long-lost sister. How Gendry might blame her for leaving him, for not fighting harder for him.

No, she pushed all thoughts of her family not wanting her out of her mind, and stared towards the Western horizon. To where she knew the darkness of the night hid the outline of land, of Westeros, of home._ Don’t worry,_ she promised her family silently. _I’m coming home. I’ll be there soon. _

o~O~o

Arya is eighteen when running away is proposed to her for the first time. The Great Hall is loud, and full of a mix of friends and strangers. Arya supposes that for now, everyone in this hall is a friend, despite not knowing most of them. Fighting a horde of undead corpses does create a strong sense of camaraderie.

Unfortunately, the soldiers seem to think this meant that they were all now friends with Arya. There had to be hundreds of curious men who wanted to see the small warrior-woman who had managed to kill the Night King. Arya knew it was because most of them didn’t believe that it had been her who dealt the final blow, despite reassurances from her family, friends, and even the Dragon Queen herself.

Arya managed to ignore most of them, filtering their voices out of her head and barely managing to remember to say her thank-yous at the right times. The latest thankful soldier who stood in front of her had been here for at least five full minutes - or was it ten, twenty? Arya was past caring - and Arya’s polite smile had not wavered, she was proud to admit. Though she knew Sansa was on the other side of the room, talking to the Hound, Arya thought her sister would be proud of her steady face if she had seen it.

“Thank you, ser, that’s very kind,” she said, interrupting the man’s speech. Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint, and bowed before heading away. Arya saw another man approach and stifled a groan. She saw Jon suppress a laugh beside her and kicked him gently for his lack of help.

“Hello, milady,” the man said, and Arya turned to him with a surprised smile.

“Hello, Gendry,” she replied, matching his tone and earning one of his rare smiles in return.

Gendry opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by a call of his name from further down the table. The room went silent as the Dragon Queen stood.

“That is your name, yes? Gendry Waters.”

Arya watched Gendry gulp.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You are the son of the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, yes?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Arya didn’t know yet what to make of Daenerys Targaryen yet, but she knew immediately that if the Dragon Queen threatened Gendry, she wouldn’t be queen of anything for much longer.

Arya watched as Daenerys gave Gendry a hard stare. “You are aware, of course, of how your father murdered my brother Rhaegar and was directly responsible for the deaths of my remaining family, yes?”

Arya’s hand slid, slowly and casually, towards Needle.

But Gendry did not back down. “I didn’t know him, Your Grace. He was and is no father of mine.”

Arya held her breath.

And Daenerys smiled. “If your father is dead, and you are the last Baratheon, I believe that makes you the heir of Storm’s End.”

Arya had seen Gendry through many different hardships and challenges, and in all their travels she did not think she had ever seen him look as shocked as he did now.

“Your Grace?”

“You are no longer Gendry Waters. You are Gendry Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands.”

The hall was silent as Gendry stared at the Dragon Queen, until-

“To Lord Baratheon!” Ser Davos called, and the hall took up the chant.

Arya watched Gendry grab a goblet of wine and raise it to the Dragon Queen, and then to the crowd, before beginning to make his way through the crowd towards the doors. Arya stood up, and quickly said good-bye to Jon before following.

The winds outside the great hall were biting as Arya made her way towards the forge. She heard a clanging sound from inside, and quickly stepped in, cutting off the frigid winds from entering the room.

Gendry sat on an anvil, his warhammer thrown to the ground. He stared, unseeing, at the fire. Arya moved slowly, so she would not startle him.

“A lord,” he said in a detached voice.

Arya sat down beside him.

“A lord,” she agreed.

Gendry did not speak for a moment. Arya remained quiet, waiting for him to begin.

“I can’t be a lord,” Gendry muttered. “I’m a smith, I’m lowborn, I lived in fucking Flea Bottom.”

Arya frowned and put a hand on his arm, but he continued. “I don’t know how to read, I can’t use a fork properly, I can’t use a bloody sword! I don’t know how to be a lord!” His voice grew louder with each declaration, until he stood up and clutched at his short hair.

Arya stood as well, ready to follow should he move.

“Let’s run away,” he said suddenly.

Arya raised her eyebrows. “Where shall we go, Lord Baratheon?”

Gendry groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

Arya grinned. “As my lord commands.”

Gendry snorted at that, and sat back down on the anvil. Arya joined him, noting with a slight thrill how his hand sought hers out as soon as she joined him.

“If we run away, they’ll come looking for us,” Arya started, and Gendry sighed. “I know.”

They sat quietly for a moment, Gendry’s thumb stroking her hand absentmindedly.

“For what it’s worth,” Arya said softly, “You’ll make a wonderful lord.”

Gendry groaned again, and Arya laughed.

“Are you sure we can’t just run away?” he whined.

Arya rolled her eyes at the petulance in his voice, and stayed quiet until an idea popped into her head.

“What if I... helped you?” she asked, her voice forcibly neutral.

Gendry turned to look at her properly, his eyes questioning, and Arya met his gaze nervously before quickly looking away. “I’m good at sums,” she continued. “I can help train your men. That sort of thing.”

Not that Arya was looking at Gendry out of the corner of her eye, because she most definitely wasn’t, but she could see the smile that grew on his face.

“Milady, you’d come down to the big bad South just for me?” he teased, and Arya hit him in the chest, smiling now. He reached up and took her hand, tangling their fingers together.

“I’d like that,” Gendry said, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.

Arya looked at him again, with the firelight dancing in his ocean eyes. “Then let’s run South,” she said, and Gendry’s smile was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more than a little late for axgweek, but a late work is better than no work at all! Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment :)
> 
> (not beta'd, we die like men here)


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